Written on Silk (53 page)

“Without question, she has no mind of her own. She is naught but a slave. Are you sure of this? You are not exaggerating just a little out of alarm? Madalenna saw you?”

“Yes, yes! I mean she saw me, and I am not exaggerating.” Her teeth chattered despite herself. “She knows I was there, that I overheard. I could be sent to the Bastille.”

“Not if I have anything to do with your future. But we must leave here at once.” He turned her loose, frowning, deep in thought. “Let me think . . .” He tapped his chin and paced, then looked at her evenly, scanning her. “Speaking of a disguise, that may aid us both at the moment. Can you make yourself — ” he gestured with his hands, as if measuring her girth — “heavier, here and there?”

She looked down at herself. “Yes, I am sure I can.”

“We will go straight to my palais at Vendôme.”

Vendôme. Her thoughts rushed back to an earlier time when she had fled there for safety and remembered his promise of amour in the garden.

“But will she not send guards after me at Vendôme?”

“Undoubtedly. She may even come herself. That is good. I shall have her on my own terms.” He let the drape fall into place, looked over at her, scowled, and came to her.

“We will need to leave your maid and the boy here until I can find a way to send for them. They should be safe. I’ll tell them to admit that you ran away with me if she questions them. That will give her pause. She needs me to get rid of Guise. She will not do much to anger me until after the assassination. So I must delay.” He walked over to the window and moved the heavy velvet drapery to look below in the courtyard. “Go and change. Do what you can to disguise your appearance.”

Rachelle, heart thudding with excitement and fear, rushed to her bedchamber for a dark dress and cloak, stuffing lighter undergarments beneath the dress until she looked broadly rounded. She started to smile, but was sobered when she imagined the face of the Queen Mother peering at her. A few minutes later she came out and stood in the doorway expecting his approval.

He turned and took her in from head to toe. He put a hand to his forehead and closed his eyes. Rachelle smothered a laugh.

He gestured toward the door, bowing deeply, and she walked past him with dignity, head high.

C
ATHERINE DID NOT RETURN
to the Louvre as expected but boarded the royal coach for the ride to Fontainebleau, content with what she had accomplished at the Ruggerio brothers’ shop. As the horses raced along the wooded countryside of Orléans and Fontainebleau, she laughed to herself, for a message from one of her chief spies had reached her by rider. Marquis Fabien de Vendôme had docked the
Reprisal
at Calais and was on his way to Paris to stand against Comte Maurice Beauvilliers. There would most likely be a duel over the belle des belles Mademoiselle Rachelle, unless Catherine decided to stop it. She chuckled. She was in no mind to stop so entertaining a spectacle.

She would make certain they met at Fontainebleau, and she would rile them up first like two poisonous snakes and then arrange to have them meet by chance.

She pressed her kerchief to her mouth and chuckled.

Later that afternoon within her royal appartement at Fontainebleau, Catherine received another message, this one from Paris. A cold fury wrapped around her until she yelled: “Madalenna!”

The girl appeared at once from the shadowy recesses of the chamber. Catherine stalked toward her shaking the lettre in her pale, stoic face.

“Why did you not tell me this? You little fool. You have failed me. I should throw you to the snake pit, you worthless creature. How long have you known Comte Sebastien fled Paris, taking his family?”

The round dark eyes, empty, like deep pools stared up at her.

“I did not know, Your Majesty. I swear I knew nothing of this news until you just told me.”

“Lies!” She slapped the thin girl, and she fell backward, bumping her head against the wall. “You fool,” Catherine said again. “He is on his way to England. You will pay for this failure, Madalenna. I will have you beaten. What else do you know that you are keeping from me? Out with it, or I vow you will wish you had spoken all the truth to me.”

Madalenna crawled to her knees, wiping blood from her lips. She looked up at Catherine.

Catherine scowled down at her. “Well? You had best tell me. I have all the truth here on this piece of paper. If you hold anything back I shall know it.”

Madalenna pushed the lock of ebony hair away from her cheek.

“I saw Mademoiselle Rachelle at the wharf. She followed you to the Messires Ruggerio. She saw me and ran away.”

Catherine felt her heart turn to ice. She could not speak. She stared, unblinking, down at Madalenna, then turned slowly away and walked with leaden feet over to the window. She looked out at the forest and gazed at the circling crows, cawing.

She must suspect me of the grande dame’s death.

Danger
, her mind whispered,
danger
. No one must know of her secret dealings with poison.

Spying on me. Following me? She will pay for this indiscretion. Ah yes,
she will pay a weighty price for this treachery.

So be it. Rachelle must die. But not before I use her lover, the marquis,
to destroy Duc de Guise. Then I will alert the duc’s devoted son to the fact
that the marquis assassinated his beloved father. Young Henry will not
rest until he reaps revenge on the marquis. I will be rid of two enemies and
no one will suspect my involvement. After the marquis is no longer here to
defend her, I will have my way with Rachelle the spy!

Together . . . at Last

VENDÔME

A
T THE GRAND BOURBON
CHÂTEAU
AT
VENDÔME
IT SEEMED TO
RACHELLE
that all the schemes to entrap her and Fabien for personal and political gain had been left behind in Paris.

In the grand salle Rachelle surrendered to Fabien’s embrace, to his fervent lips on hers, and suddenly the world was no longer bleak, no longer fearful or lonely. Fabien was here, showing her how much he wanted her, and she felt safe. She was hearing his unexpected words of commitment — words that she had merely dreamed of hearing and thought she never would. He loved her . . . loved her, fully and completely, and —

“Say yes, Rachelle, because I will not give up until you agree to marry me here at Vendôme. Will you become my beloved marquise, Rachelle de Vendôme?”

“Yes, yes . . .”

“Do you love me, Rachelle?”

She laughed, throwing her arms around his neck, holding him ardently.

“Forever,” she whispered, warmed by his gaze.

How safe she felt in his arms; how right it seemed to be here with him, hearing his words of amour, and forgetting all that was darkness and fear.

She had awakened from a dreadful nightmare to light and hope again.

She sighed as she heard him whisper, “And nothing will ever be allowed to tear us apart again.”

For this moment the summer flowers bloomed in rich abundance, their fragrance heavy and sweet; the gilded cup of amour overflowed, and the future was as golden as though it were written on silk.